S'more Cosy
by barpurple
Summary: A weekend solving crime and camping with Sherlock Holmes hadn't been on her bucket list, but Molly was glad she'd grabbed the chance.
1. Chapter 1

"Can you drive, Molly?"

Molly finished tying off the last stitch to close Mr Daltrey's Y incision before glancing across at Sherlock who was leaning against one of the workbenches.

"Very well. Better than young Mr Daltrey here at any rate."

"Clearly."

Sherlock eyes darted to Mr Daltrey's head, which was sitting on a separate table from the body. It had been severed in the car crash that brought the man to the morgue; there was still an arm unaccounted for; Sherlock made a mental note to go looking for it later. To return it to the body, not for science; John would have opinions about that, so would Molly.

"I think my license is out of date. No point renewing it since I don't have a car. Why do you ask?"

Sherlock pulled his mind away from potential experiments on the head and smiled at Molly.

"There's a promising case in Horsham and I wondered if you'd like to come with me. Should only take a few days. Thought we could share the driving."

He watched her back as she placed the head with the body and returned the corpse to its drawer. Molly was his friend and since his aborted exile he was trying not to deduce his friends all the time. Deprived of its usual activity his mind chose to focus on the swing of her ponytail, calculating the arc of its motion. He blinked rapidly when she swung around to face him.

"So you want me to be John for a few days?"

The merriment in her tone that told him she was teasing, so he rolled his eyes and huffed dramatically.

"No, Molly. I want you to be you for a few days and help me solve a case. You are not a John stand in."

Molly eyed him critically.

"Did you ask John first?"

"Do I look as if I've been on the receiving end of a head-butt? No, even I'm not so socially unaware that I would ask John to leave London this close to Mary's due date."

She snorted a laugh and smiled at the thought of John's irate and disbelieving face had Sherlock asked.

"Okay. A few days away solving crime sounds fun."

There was a tiny, tiny part of Molly's mind that said that solving crimes was not fun for normal people. The petulant voice huffed and faded away under the influence of Sherlock's enthusiastic smile.

"Excellent! Come to Baker Street after work and I'll explain the case."

[][][]

"Mary Watson! What do you think you are doing?"

With slow and heavy movements Mary carefully stepped down from the stool and balanced the paintbrush she'd been using on the side of the paint tray. With a cheery smile she turned to face her husband. John's face was a text book picture of worry and concern.

"I'm decorating the nursey John. The paint and brushes are surely a hint."

His lips thinned as he bit back the snarky response that tried to rush forward. That wasn't the only comment her husband was trying to hold in. Mary gave a soft sigh and settled herself in the slide and glide rocking chair that Sherlock had picked out for them.

"Okay. Let the fussing and fretting out before you explode. I'm ready."

John drew in a deep breath and the words came rushing out of his mouth as if his brain had turned on a high powered hose.

"You could have fallen; or gone dizzy and fallen; or gone into labour and fallen! What about the paint fumes? They can't be any good at all for you and the little one. You're due in less than ten days. You need to be resting Mary. Please."

John's chin dropped on to his chest and his hands clenched at his sides. Mary waited quietly until his shoulders started shaking with soft laughter. He rubbed the back of his neck as he looked up at her sparkling eyes.

"I'm sorry, love. I never thought I'd turn into one of those fussing dads-to-be."

Mary giggled along with him, but then jumped slightly as the baby kicked. John crossed the room in a flash and knelt by the chair staring at the bump with a look of awe on his face.

"I saw that one. She's got a hell of a kick on her."

"Trust me; I'm well aware of that."

John kissed her hand and rubbed his hand over her huge stomach. Mary ran her fingers through his short hair.

"You've got to remember that I'm pregnant, not made out of glass. To be honest I'd be happy to go into labour early. I'm sick of being as big as a bus."

John gave her a wonky smile.

"I know you're tough as nails, love. It's the caveman in me. I'm always going to worry about my girls."

"You can express your manly concern by making me a cuppa and explaining why Molly Hopper is texting me to find out how to make s'mores."

John pushed himself to his feet and held a hand out to Mary.

"It's for a case. I think."

[][][][]

Molly had done all of the driving from London to Horsham. She'd been right that her license was expired, but Sherlock having a brother in a minor position in the British government came with some perks. That Mycroft had somehow convinced the DVLA to renew Molly's license and deliver it by courier in less than four hours had to be the most blatant display of the pull he actually had that Molly had every witnessed. Faking Sherlock's death had been complex and amazing, but seriously cowing the DVLA was something else altogether.

" _Molly and Sherlock on a road trip? Oh, I wish I could be a fly on the wall for that one!"_

 _John snorted._

" _Sherlock's a pretty good driver. Surprisingly. He actually focuses on the road, most of the time."_

" _Nope. Can't picture that at all."_

Sherlock had spent the journey glued to his phone doing as much research as possible. Several times during the hour and a half journey he muttered about the deplorable fact that the campsite had no Wi-Fi service. How was anybody expected to function without internet access? Why would anyone think such a Luddite attitude was an advertising feature?

" _John have you seen the website for this place they're going?"_

" _Yeah. Why?"_

" _It's going to be rather cosy for the two of them don't you think?"_

 _John read the description of the Shepard's Hut that Sherlock had booked for Molly and him. His laughter was loud in the warm kitchen._

" _Poor Molly. Sharing a bed with Sherlock is going to be an education for her."_

" _Speaking from experience there, husband?"_

" _I'll tell you about York, but you can't breathe a word of it to anyone. People would definitely talk."_

"This is so much better than camping when I was a kid."

Molly twirled in the middle of the Shepard's Hut and smiled at Sherlock. When he'd told her that their destination was a campsite where some very odd things were happening, Molly had braced herself for battles with tent poles and a few nights of trying in vain to find soft ground to sleep on. He'd quickly corrected her notion and explained that this was a Glamping site.

Instead of sleeping on lumpy ground under damp canvass their accommodation was a quaint little hut kitted out like a gypsy caravan. Glamping might have a silly name, but she was starting to see the appeal.

Sherlock was eyeing the only bed with a strange look on his face. He'd warned Molly they would need to share since this was the last 'tent' available on site. Molly had taken that in her stride; although they'd never slept side by side she was used to Sherlock using her place as a bolthole. If she could cope with seeing Sherlock before either of them had had a cuppa she could cope with anything.

The double bed completely filled one end of the hut. It touched three of the walls so the only access was to climb in from one side. It looked snug, very snug. Molly gave the bed a hard look then looked up and down Sherlock's tall form.

"No, I'm not sure that the bed is long enough for me either Molly."

She gave a shrug.

"If you do decide to sleep, what with being on a case and all, we'll work something out."

He gave the bed a final frown and started towards they door. Molly almost laughed at loud as she watched him have to shorten his stride in the small space.

"Shall we go and solve this puzzle?"

" _They are pitches for actual tents free for this weekend. Why didn't Sherlock book one of those?"_

 _John's voice carried a touch of sadness._

" _Sherlock loathes camping. Says it reminds he too much of sleeping rough when he was homeless. The junkie years."_

The case turned out to be brain numbingly simple. Sherlock had it solved within three hours of arriving at the site. Molly had taken detailed notes because she knew this was one John would want to write up for the blog; animal mutilation, strange lights and noises at night and crop circles all faked to set the idea of aliens in the minds of the locals. The whole elaborate affair had been devised to be a smoke screen for an elopement. Sherlock's eyes had rolled so hard at the pair of lovers that Molly thought he might strain his optical muscles.

She gave the Shepard's Hut a wistful look when they returned after speaking with the local police. It was a good thing she hadn't unpacked, one less thing to do before Sherlock insisted they head back to London. It would have been nice to have spent one night glamping, just so she could say that she'd tried it.

"What did you do on camping trips when you were a kid?"

Molly sat on the end of the bed, a fond smile of memory on her face.

"The usual stuff I suppose. Exploring, visit nearby castles or the beach, fishing. The best bit was cooking over a campfire. Mum and Dad would let us stay up late and toast marsh mallows. Dad would point out all the constellations when it got dark and Mum would tell ghost stories. It was simple, but fun."

Sherlock was folded into one of the chairs, his fingers steepled under his chin as he watched her. His intense stare didn't make her feel as uncomfortable as it once did, but in the close quarters of the hut it felt more intimate that it did in the lab or morgue.

"There's a fire pit outside. I can get a fire going, while you buy supplies from the shop."

Molly's brow creased in mild confusion.

"You want to stay? The case is done. I thought you'd want to hare off back to London."

Sherlock shrugged dismissively.

"We're here and paid up for the night; might as well take advantage of it. John's not texted to say Mary's gone into labour, so no need to rush back to Baker Street. Unless you'd rather head back now?"

Molly jumped to her feet and grabbed her handbag before Sherlock could change his mind. It might be a little silly for a grown woman to be so excited about spending a night cooking over a smoky fire, but stuff it, camping was fun.

"No, we should stay. I'll go get sausages and marsh mallows and things. Is there anything particular you want?"

Nope. You have the experience in this area. I'll leave the shopping to you."

Molly stepped over his long legs as she headed towards the small shop on site. It wasn't until she was loading her basket with sausages, buns and marsh mallows that what was happening caught up with her. She was glamping with Sherlock Holmes. She stood for a moment, eyes unfocused on the display of sauces in front of her. The image that rose in her mind caused a bubble of laughter to escape her throat. Sherlock in his bespoke suit toasting marsh mallows over a campfire; oh she hoped she could snap a picture of that.

There was to be no picture an overdressed Sherlock doing anything with a campfire. When Molly returned to the Shepard's hut she found Sherlock had changed his clothes. Her jaw tighten at the sight, last time she'd seen him dressed in combats and a baggy hoodie she'd been testing him for drugs.

"Don't panic Molly. I'm not high, nor planning to get that way. These clothes seamed more fitting for camping."

He'd had his back to her when he started to speak, but had turned to face her. His kaleidoscope eyes met hers and she found nothing but honesty and sincerity within them. She relaxed and nodded.

"I was hoping to get a photo of you in your suit toasting a marshmallow."

Sherlock chuckled.

"Glad I go changed. John would crow far too much over that!"

 _John finished the brush stroke carefully, his tongue sticking from the corner of his mouth as he concentrated on painting along the edge of the window frame. Mary was in the rocking chair looking at her phone._

" _Sherlock's solved the case."_

" _So they'll be heading back then?"_

" _Nope Molly says they're staying for the night anyway. Cooking bangers on a campfire."_

 _John gave his wife a bemused look._

" _How did Molly talk him into that?"_

 _Mary gave him a knowing grin._

" _She didn't it was Sherlock's idea."_

 _John's eyebrows almost jumped of his head they shot up so fast._

" _Really? Wow. Why is my first instinct to make him pee in a cup?"_

 _Mary batted his arm._

" _Be nice. You know he's sweet on Molly. In his own strange way. Still camping under the stars, roaring fire, maybe they'll get their act together tonight."_

 _John snorted._

" _You know girlfriends aren't his area, love."_

Sherlock watched the sausages cooking with the intensity that Molly had only seen before when he was wrapped up in an experiment. He tore his gaze away from the browning meat.

"When will they be done?"

Molly had to giggle, Sherlock sounded like an excitedly impatient five year old.

"Soon. Trust me; you don't want to eat them half cooked."

He took a resigned sip from the bottle of cider Molly had bought.

"No, food poisoning is not a fun experience."

"Did you experiment on yourself?"

Sherlock gave her an incredulous look.

"No. I was just a terrible cook at uni."

Molly stared at him and then the pair of them burst into laughter, which turned into a panicked yelp as the fire flared up and ignited on of the sausages.

"Bugger!"

Sherlock leapt up brandishing the long handled BBQ fork. He managed to flick the flaming banger off the grill. His look of triumph was quickly quelled as the dry grass started to smoulder. Molly was helpless with laughter as Sherlock stomped the fire out, employing some of John's choicest curses as he did so. His pale skin was flushed by the time he'd conquered the small flames.

"Now I understand why you insisted on cooking extra."

They paid close attention to the remaining sausages and had no further casualties. Sherlock eat with gusto, which wasn't surprising since he'd solved the case. He swallowed the last bite and stared up at the sky.

"What star is that?"

Molly followed his pointing finger and shook her head. Sherlock's lack of knowledge about the solar system was still a talking point after all these years.

"That's not a star; it's a planet, Venus. Second planet from the sun and the brightest object in the night sky. It's covered in thick clouds of sulphuric acid that cause it to reflect so much of the sun's light."

As the evening grew darker Molly pointed out various constellations and Sherlock told her the stories from Greek and Roman mythology that gave them their names.

"I would have thought you'd have deleted mythology."

"Hum, it's persistently stubborn. Probably because I learnt about it when I was so young. Just hard wired in there now.

Sated for now they talked over the case. Molly told Sherlock what she knew about alien abduction and UFO sightings. He teased her a little for watching such crap telly, but then tried to come up with rational explanations for each repot. Without all of the data it was pure speculation, but some of Sherlock's suggestions were more outlandish that the actual reports, so Molly grinned so much so thought her face might ache tomorrow.

Feeling peckish again they toasted marshmallows and even tried making s'mores.

"I'm not sure we're doing this right."

Molly licking melted chocolate and molten marshmallow from her fingers, all the while wondering if American kids had asbestos fingers to handle these things with such apparent ease. Sherlock had dropped the gooey mess down the front of his hoodie. He ran his finger through the mess before popping the digit into his mouth and sucking it clean. Molly knew the blush that rose to her cheeks had nothing to do with the fire, but that's what she was blaming. Sherlock was frowning at the stain on his hoodie.

"There's something grimly appealing about this treats. They should be disgusting, but they're moreish."

The rain started so suddenly they both jumped. Molly's yelp covered the strangled sound Sherlock made. The next few moments were a flurry of activity as they grabbed the remains of their meal and cooking equipment and rushed into the hut.

Molly wiped the rain from her face and peered into the downpour at the firepit.

"Guess the weather will take care of that for us."

Sherlock only hummed in response, but Molly caught the note of disappointment in the sound.

"What's wrong?"

"We were having fun and the weather's spoiled it."

She gave his arm a quick squeeze.

"It's not a real camping trip unless in rains. Besides we have this little hobbit stove, so we won't be freezing. We can make some hot chocolate if you'd like."

"Can we put marshmallows in it?"

He sounded shy as if he was worried Molly would laugh at him for being childish. She answered with mock seriousness.

"It would be a terrible waste of marshmallows if we didn't."

Sherlock gave her a happy boyish grin and set about lighting the little stove.


	2. Chapter 2

Hot Chocolate

As the milk heated on the little stove Molly became hotly aware of just how snug their accommodation was. Even with her seated by the stove and Sherlock sitting cross legged on the bed scarcely five feet separated them. They'd stood and worked closer than this before, but in this tiny, warm space everything felt heightened. The rain drumming on the roof added to the sensation of being cocooned and isolated from the world.

Molly poured the drinks and added some marshmallows. Sherlock grinned like a little kid as he accepted his mug, but his joy faded as Molly settled back into the chair.

"Come sit on the bed Molly. You'll be more comfortable."

Molly's head tilted in surprise as Sherlock shifted closer to one of the walls. He didn't have far to go and it dawned on her that he'd left space for her from the start. Her heart swelled at the gesture, considerate Sherlock was a rare experience and she knew she was one of the select few to be deemed worthy of it.

They sat comfortably together drinking hot chocolate and talking about the interns Molly was supervising at Barts. When Molly stretched her legs out in front of her, her feet brushed Sherlock's thigh. Before she could pull back his long fingered hands took hold of her foot and began massaging along the arch. She stammered over what she was saying and stared at him wide eyed.

"Is this alright? Do you not like having your feet touched?"

"It's fine, more than fine, just a little unexpected."

Sherlock hummed and focused on massaging her foot. He kept his eyes on the task in hand as he softly said;

"I find myself wanting to touch you, all of you, all the time."

His confession hung in the air between them for seconds that stretched into eons. Sherlock's hands faltered and stopped. He swallowed nervously and forced his head up to meet Molly's eyes.

"What do you want you, Sherlock?"

"You."

Molly nodded and pulled her foot from Sherlock's lax grasp. She knelt up and moved a little closer towards him.

"Just for a holiday fling?"

Sherlock shook his head rapidly.

"No, I want you. You're everywhere in my mind palace. I want it, us, to be like that outside of my head as well. I want to matter to you, to prove I'm worthy of your affection."

Sherlock was letting his emotions show on his face, uncertainty, fear and nervousness all vying for dominance across his sharp cheek bones and in his multi-hued eyes. Molly licked her suddenly dry lips and moved towards him.

Once more the vicious seconds elongated themselves beyond their allotted span. Molly was certain something was going to break the spell; something was going to interrupt and destroy their chance.

Sherlock surged up and mashed his mouth against hers. Molly's brain tried to report every action; his hands sliding around her waist, her melting into him, him pulling her into his lap, her fingers threading into his hair, but logic gave way to sensation and all she could feel was Sherlock, surrounding her, pouring into her, consuming her, worshiping her.

The boring need to breathe made itself known and their lips separated just enough to allow it.

"I don't want to make love to you," Sherlock gasped.

A confidence Molly rarely showed caused her to roll her hips against the obvious bulge in his lap. Sherlock's groan was sinful.

"Well, obviously I want to make love to you; desperately, but not here. I want to wait until we're back in London, so it's real, can't be mistaken for a holiday fling."

Molly smirked and kissed him again, her lips slid down to the perfect column of his neck and Sherlock's head thumped back against the wall.

"That is not helping my resolve Dr Hooper."

She chuckled against his throat and relented. Sherlock wanting to wait was possibly the single sweetest thing she'd ever heard. With happy smiles and quick kisses they got ready to sleep. Molly Hooper drifted into slumber wrapped in the tight embrace of Sherlock Holmes while the ever doubting part of her mind observed with slack jawed shock.

[][][]

Molly waved at the departing car before she rang the Watson's doorbell. Sherlock had driven them back to London and was going to return the rental car before joining her in visiting John and Mary. Molly had been walking on air since waking up this morning spooning with Sherlock. It was struggle to stop the sheer joy showing on her face, but she wanted to tell Mary of her new relationship rather than let the observant woman deduce it.

"Molly! How was camping?"

Mary embraced her as much as her very pregnant belly would allow.

"Oh you know. Interesting. Hello John."

John grinned in welcome and then tilted his head to one side.

"Y'know Molly, most people only get mosquito bites on a camping trip."

Molly blushed and grinned happily as her hand flew to the love bite on her neck.

Sherlock had just climbed into a taxi to take him back to John's house when his phone bleeped.

iWell done mate! – JW

About bloody time! – MW

Congratulations brother mine. She's no goldfish -MH/i


End file.
